


Thinking of you

by Salambo06



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Fic, First Kiss, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, POV John, POV Sherlock, Smut Sunday, sad wanking, sexual fantazies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:03:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6372262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times John and Sherlock masturbated in the same flat, thinking about each other and the one time they didn't need to</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thinking of you

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Heater for her corrections and to the people on tumblr who inspired me for this fic !

**One**

John threw his head back, skin burning and his breath coming shorter and shorter as he bit down his lower lip. He needed to keep quiet, Sherlock was just downstairs, probably still working on their latest case. Lying on the sofa, wearing his dressing gown and his pajama pants, thin, so very thin. John had caught sight of hard hipbones earlier, pale and right there, right within John’s reach.

God, how John wanted.

One week. That’s all it took. One week living with Sherlock had been enough for John to wake up hard every morning, and then only to spend every day staring at Sherlock’s body and wondering how it would feel under his hands, under his lips.

John arched his back, the mere thought of Sherlock’s lips bringing him closer and closer. He needed to come, soon. He had been holding on all day, trying to fight the urge to push Sherlock against the nearest wall and ravish him for good. It would have been so easy, so very easy.

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpered silently, planting his feet on the mattress.

His cock swelled inside his fist, growing harder as another drop of precome landed on his stomach. He should have tried again, should have make his attention clearer after their first case. God, Sherlock could be in this bed with him right now, it could be his hand around John’s erection, his breath against John’s neck. John could be kissing him, swallowing down his moans and whimpers as they rocked together.

“Fuck, Sher-”

John stopped himself, rolling to his side to bury his head in the pillow. It was only a matter of seconds now, his hips thrusting into his tight fist and Sherlock’s voice echoing in his head. John bit down the soft pillow as he came, spending himself on the clean sheets.

**Two**

Sherlock couldn't fool himself any longer.

He knew perfectly well what was going on, just as he knew the reason. It was obvious, so obvious that it could make him laugh if it wasn't so tedious.

John Watson had happened. John and his jumpers, John and his eternal warm smile, John and his tendency to stand too close, to touch him, to invade his mind and life. John Watson who just walked out of the bathroom after a long, very long shower.

“I'm heading to the clinic,” John called from the living room, through Sherlock’s barely opened door, “I should be back for lunch.”

“Hmm.”

Sherlock didn't trust his voice right now. Not when he could still hear the muffled moans coming out of John’s mouth just minutes ago. Not when he mind was focused on the way John’s body would have looked under the warm stream of water, his right hand around his erection, stroking slowly. Did he throw his head back, leaning against the wall? Or did he put one hand against the wall for the support, the muscles of his back and shoulder working with every movement of his hand?

Sherlock needed to know. He had needed to know for weeks, months. Since John had brought his suitcase and settled in the room upstairs.

Sherlock heard the front door close and he let out a frustrated sigh. He’s hard, had been since John had turned the water on. Slipping one hand under his pants, Sherlock took himself in hand and gasped out loud. It had been too long since he indulged himself. He had thought he could go on as if nothing changed, as if he could control his body, but this was too much.

“Oh,” he breathed out as his thumb brushed the head of his cock, already wet with precome.

Sherlock settled more comfortably back against the headboard and spread his legs a little wider after pushing his pants down to his ankles. He closed his eyes, trying to picture John kneeling between his thighs, hands working their way up his legs, calloused fingers caressing and teasing.

“Hmm.”

Sherlock sped up his pace, his other hand gripping the sheet. John was now leaning down, his breath hot against Sherlock's skin, his mouth dangerously close to his erection. He's mouthing at Sherlock’s hip bones, tongue darting out to lick and taste.

“Oh, God,” Sherlock threw his head back, his grip tightening around his cock.

John’s lips around his cock, tongue circling, teeth grazing, warm, wet. Sherlock stroked himself faster, panting now, and felt his orgasm building. John would feel it too, head bobbing with enthusiasm despite Sherlock’s warning.

“John!” Sherlock cried out as he came on his shirt, unable to breathe properly for a moment.

**Three**

He was making too much noise.

Sherlock was home and the flat was deadly quiet apart from John’s panting breaths and the creak of his mattress. There was no way Sherlock couldn’t hear him.

He was making too much noise but John couldn’t bring himself to care. He's desperate, on the edge of coming and all he could think of was Sherlock’s body pressed against his, wet and shivering as they snuggled for warmth earlier. John could still remember Sherlock’s broad chest against his own, their legs tangled and Sherlock’s hands shaking while he held on to him.

“Oh, God.”

Lestrade and his men had taken thirty minutes to arrive at the crime scene, leaving John plenty of time to imagine all they could have done during those long minutes. Even now, rocking into his fist, John let his imagination take him to dangerous fantasies, to Sherlock’s neck against his lips and his hands sliding through dark curls, to Sherlock’s hips rocking against his own, warming them up, bringing them close, together.

“Fuck,” John bucked into his fist, losing his pace.

He was making too much noise, too much-

“Oh fuck!” John cried out, _loud._

John covered his mouth with his free hand, the hand on his cock stopping as he gasped for breath. The fantasy was too strong, felt too real. John couldn’t go down that road, couldn’t let himself imagine too much. He resumed his movements, slowly, enjoying the way his entire body shivered. He let his thumb caress at his head, spreading the precome there to his entire cock and picked up the pace.

“Sherlock, Sherlock,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

John felt the first tremor of his orgasm, thrusting up into his fist before coming, teeth sunk into his hand and back arched on the bed.

**Four**

Sherlock had never been so hard.

He could distinctly hear the rhythmic creak of John’s bed above him and the muffled moans and gasps making their way to his own bedroom. Sherlock couldn't take his eyes off the ceiling, as if he could somehow see through it, watch as John pleasured himself. The thing was, Sherlock wanted to believe he knew the reason John was masturbating right now. Just for tonight, Sherlock was going to imagine that John was thinking of him, thinking of their bodies pressed together, soaking wet and shaking in each other arms. Just for now, Sherlock would convince himself that John had been just as affected as he had been for those thirty-three minutes.

Exhaling slowly, Sherlock let one of his hands travel down his bare chest, teasing one hard nipple lightly before moving further down. John was going for a quick wank, efficient, desperate, but Sherlock wanted to take his time. He wanted to let the fantasy settle into his memory, to make it as accurate as possible.

The head of his cock was peeking through the waistband of his pants, already leaking but Sherlock didn’t touch it yet, fingers brushing instead his inner thighs and balls through his pants. He let out a shaky breath, spreading his legs wider as he reached for his bedside drawer, quickly getting the bottle of lube he kept there. Pouring some on his hand, Sherlock focused back on the sounds coming from John’s bedroom.

Sherlock removed his pants quickly, one finger already rubbing at his entrance, wet and warm, before pushing inside. It had been a long time since Sherlock had last used his fingers, the temptation to do so not overwhelming him until now. Sherlock threw his head back, the sounds from upstairs getting louder and louder. He aimed for his prostate directly, thrill of pleasure running through him and Sherlock wasted no time, taking himself in hand and stroking.

“Hmm,” he breathed out silently, “yes.”

Soon one finger wasn’t enough anymore, and Sherlock poured some more lube before adding another. But just as he was about to add a third, John went silent above him. Sherlock froze, his erection hard and his breath short. John hadn’t come yet, he couldn’t have. Had something happened? Sherlock waited for any sign of John leaving his room and coming downstairs, but for a long minute silence filled the flat again.

Then, the light sound of John’s panting breath, much more controlled this time. But it was enough for Sherlock to focus on. He only needed to stay quiet. He let his fingers push further in, brushing his prostate again and Sherlock’s back rose from the bed, pleasure consuming him entirely. He was close already, closer than he had thought, but that was alright because John’s mattress was creaking again. John was close too.

Both of them, close. So close.

****Five** **

This was bloody dangerous.

Sherlock was right there, probably lying on the sofa and he only needed to stop talking to realise what John was doing. John was already certain Sherlock knew all about his wanking habits, the frequency, the time it lasted, the technique John used. All of it. But still, John didn’t need to be caught masturbating to Sherlock’s voice in the middle of the afternoon with his bedroom door half open.

“The victim is a female, twenty-six, blonde, average weight and height. Found dead in the woods, body half buried, time of death estimated two days a-”

John let his head rest against the wall, legs shaking. This really shouldn’t turn him on, but just hearing Sherlock’s voice managed to make his cock throb in his hand. He didn’t need to focus on whatever Sherlock was saying, he only needed to imagine that deep voice whispering into his ear, _yes, John, yes._

John bit down his lower lip, hands stroking a bit quicker. Sherlock loved to talk, loved his own voice, and _god_ , John loved it too, and most of all, John loved to imagine Sherlock being a vocal lover. John craved Sherlock’s moans and whimpers, for the words whispered when he was getting close to orgasm, for the ones cried out, hissed, breathed out when he was lost in pleasure.

“John pointed out the marks of rope around the victim’s-”

 _Fuck_. Just hearing his name made John’s balls tighten. He wanted to hear Sherlock scream his name while he was deep inside him, he needed to hear him call his name over and over as they made love in every surface of the flat. John needed it, craved for it.

John quickened his pace, heat pooling down his abdomen.

"John?” Sherlock called from downstairs.

_Fuck._

"John?!”

John came all over his hand, mouth hanging open in a silent scream and eyes shut tight. Panting, he closed the door quickly, leaning against it to make sure Sherlock wouldn't burst inside the room uninvited. This situation couldn’t last. John couldn’t even remember how many times he had brought himself to orgasm thinking about Sherlock since he lived in baker Street.

John needed to do something, _quick._  
**  
\+ One**

Sherlock stared at his reflexion in the mirror, taking in his flushed cheeks and chest and his ruffled hair. Closing his eyes, he focused back on catching his breath, trying to regain control over his body before he needed to go back to his room. This was getting ridiculous. His soaked pants on the floor were ridiculous, the teeth mark on his lower lip were ridiculous, he was ridiculous.

Inhaling deeply, Sherlock picked up his pants and walked to the door. He would have the time to think about it tomorrow, when his head was not still full of fantasies about John’s body and voice.

Just as he was about to reach for the door handle, Sherlock found himself staring at John, wearing only pants and clearly out of breath, eyes wide open as they stared at each for two long seconds. Just enough time for Sherlock to deduce exactly what John had been doing just minutes ago, taking in the flushed neck and wet patch on the front of his pants. Tightening his grip around his own pants, Sherlock looked back up to John’s face and his breath caught at the the sight. John’s eyes were fixed on his hands and Sherlock cursed himself for not changing in his own room. He needed to find an excuse, quickly.

“John, I-”

But John apparently didn’t want to hear any of it, taking one step towards him until their chests were pressed together, both rising fast and Sherlock stopped breathing entirely.

"John?” He whispered, not sure what he was supposed to do exactly.

He watched as John closed his eyes for the briefest moment, his sigh caressing Sherlock’s lips, before he was looking at Sherlock again and, finally, closing the remaining distance between them.

Sherlock moaned, _loudly_ , as John caught his lower lip between his own. Sherlock felt a clever tongue trace the teeth marks there before sliding inside his mouth. Letting go of his pants, Sherlock put both hands on John’s back, bringing him impossibly closer while their tongues met, John’s taste invading his mouth and mind. It was a hungry kiss, fast and hot, leaving Sherlock’s pantless legs shaking and heart racing. He couldn’t move, wouldn’t move.

"God, Sherlock,” John panted when they broke apart, lips kissing at Sherlock’s jaw and chin.

Sherlock moaned again, sliding his hands lower until he they were resting on John’s arse, pressing them together more firmly. He was getting hard again, the feeling of John’s cock against his own making his head spin.

“Fuck,” John swore capturing his mouth again, pushing Sherlock backward until his back hit the wall.

Sherlock wasted no time, locking one leg around John’s hip so he could rub his growing erection against John’s again. He only needed to lower himself just a little and their height difference would not be a problem anymore. John was already thrusting against him, their still clothed cocks sliding against one another in most delicious way. Sherlock canted his hips just a little, the head of John’s cock now rubbing his arse with every thrust and he felt John moan into the kiss.

“John, yes,” Sherlock threw his head back, offering his neck to John’s lips.

He needed more, needed to see John, touch him, taste him. He needed to be naked, now, and in a bed so he could catalogue John’s every reaction, every moan and whimper. Sherlock needed to commit everything to memory before it faded away.

"John,” he breathed out, mouth hanging open as another hard thrust made his entire body shiver, “Bed.”

“Yes,” John growled, the sound resonating against Sherlock’s skin, “now.”

But neither of them moved, Sherlock brought John’s lips to his again for another kiss. How was he supposed to detach himself from John now, even for just a second.

“Hold on to me,” John whispered against his lips, and Sherlock nearly came as John lifted him up and carried him to the bedroom.

Sherlock was certain he looked absolutely debauched, spread on the sheets with John standing in front of the bed, but he couldn’t care less. He needed John back against him now. Just as he was about to reach for him, John removed his pants, his erection hard against his stomach and Sherlock’s mouth watered. Frozen in place, Sherlock licked his lips as John crawled on top of him, hands working on his pants until they were both naked.

"God, Sherlock,” John breathed out, kissing his chest, stomach and inner thigh. “You’re beautiful.”

"John,” Sherlock moaned, back arched on the bed. How many times did he fantasize about this?

“Absolutely beautiful,” John continued, mouth close to Sherlock’s cock now and he kissed the head quickly, tongue darting out for a second, before crawling back up again.

"Hmm, John!”

The feeling of John’s bare cock against his own was more than Sherlock had ever imagined. Sherlock spread his legs wider before locking one of them around John’s hip. He needed more contact, more pressure. Sherlock felt John’s hands sliding through his hair, caressing as they kissed again, rocking slowly together. It felt unreal, almost too much, and Sherlock wanted this moment to never end. He needed to find a way to keep John here, in his bed, hard and sweaty against him. He belonged there.

"Sherlock, look at me.”

Sherlock felt the words more than he heard them but he opened his eyes anyway, staring into John’s. John was smiling, his cheeks flushed and Sherlock had never seen him so radiant. John was the sun and Sherlock was burninng.

“I love you,” John murmured, eyes still locked with Sherlock’s, “I love you.”

Sherlock had to close his eyes again, arching into John’s embrace, drowning into his words.

"Sherlock,” John kissed his eyelid, the gesture so tender that it made Sherlock’s chest ache, “Sherlock.”

"Yes, John, _yes,_ ” Sherlock replied, thrusting up and opening his eyes again to watch as John threw his head back, mouth hanging open in a quiet whimper.

John looked back down at him before crashing their mouths together. Sherlock arched into the kiss, both hands on John’s arse, adding more pressure to their movements. He felt John’s hand slide down between them, closing around both their erections, already wet with precome, and stroking.

“John!”

“Yes, come on,” John breathed out, sucking at Sherlock’s neck.

Sherlock’s entire body was shaking, his orgasm building quickly. He was so close already, so close to come with John’s lips on him, John’s body on top of his, John’s cock against his own.

“John, _John_ ,” Sherlock moaned, his hips losing their pace, and then he was coming.

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

Sherlock lost track of time entirely, only aware of John’s panting breath against his lips and the sudden warmth on his stomach as John came, crying out Sherlock’s name. John’s entire body dropped onto Sherlock’s, his breath hot where it caressed Sherlock’s skin and Sherlock closed his eyes, engraving everything to memory. They remained this way for a long moment, both of them catching their breath while Sherlock’s hands trailed up and down John’s back, until John was kissing him again.

Sherlock felt him smile into the kiss, “What?”

“I imagined this so many times,” John murmured, “I can’t believe it actually happened.”

"You did?”

John raised his head just a little, staring down at Sherlock, “Yes, more than you can ever know.”

Sherlock smiled, heart still racing but that was alright. John’s was too.

“I think I can,” he replied and captured John’s mouth again.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comment are very appreciated :)


End file.
